Page 62 of Heal Me, Love Me

“When was the last time you talked to her?”

I shrugged. “At least six months ago. She only reaches out when she needs something.”

He reached for a fry. “You want to call her back?”

“Nah. She’ll send another message if it’s important.”

When our food was almost gone, he blew out a long breath and wiped his hands on a napkin. “So, I decided to go to Florida next week.”

My stomach tightened immediately, even though I’d known he’d eventually make plans to go. “Okay.”

His eyes searched mine. “I want you to come with me.”

“I can’t?—”

“I know you don’t want to move there,” he explained. “But I still want you to see where I might end up. I also value your opinion.”

I’d done my best to be encouraging about this new opportunity he’d earned, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have my doubts. We’d just gotten back to each other after four years apart, and I hated the idea of him leaving again. A big part of me was terrified the distance would ruin things, and now I was supposed to play the supportive boyfriend when all I could think about was him moving away.

Still, I couldn’t disappoint him. “I’ll probably need to switch shifts with someone.”

“That sounds like a yes.”

“It’s more of an ‘I’ll see what I can do’ kind of answer.”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “You do that.”

After dinner,Rowan followed me to the bar for my shift. Weeknights were usually slower, which meant I could actually talk to him between customers instead of sprinting nonstop from one end of the bar to the other. He claimed a stool near the corner where he could watch me work.

“You want something to drink?” I asked as I tied on my apron.

He rested his elbows on the bar. “Depends. What’s the bartender’s recommendation tonight?”

“Something simple.” I winked.

“I’ll take whatever IPA you have on tap that you think I’ll like.”

For the next hour, I went about my work. I took orders, made drinks, and talked shit with my regulars. Every time I looked up, Rowan was there, watching me. Not in a creepy, possessive way, but in a way that said just being in each other’s presence was enough.

At one point, a woman with glossy dark hair and a smile that’d probably worked on plenty of guys leaned over the bar as I made her drink.

“So,” she cooed, dragging out the word as her eyes swept over me. “Are you always here on Wednesdays?”

I set her cocktail on a napkin in front of her. “Depends on who’s asking.”

She smiled. “A woman who likes knowing when she might enjoy some eye candy with her drink.”

I leaned one forearm on the bar, gave her the grin that usually got me better tips, and glanced toward Rowan. “The bartender’s taken.”

Her eyes followed mine, and Rowan tipped his glass in her direction.

“Oh. Good for him.”

His mouth twitched as he brought the glass to his lips before the woman laughed, dropped a few bills into the tip jar, and walked back toward her table.

When I made my way to him a minute later, he lifted a brow. “The bartender’s taken?”

“You’d probably prefer that I wear a shirt that says property of Rowan Cross.”